The Escape
by MePo
Summary: The four Blitzkrieg Boys escape from the Abbey, leaving chaos in their wake, and join the circus to camoflage themselves. Not as cliche as it might sound. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: New story! Yay! I wasn't going to put this up yet, but it kept deleting itself and I got sick of rewriting it so here it is!

Summary: I'm only going to write this once. The Blitzkrieg Boys escape from the Abbey one night, leaving chaos and confusion in their wake. Now, they plan to somehow testify against Boris and get the Abbey shut down. Boris doesn't want that, though, so he sends out a search party. Meanwhile, even the police become involved. This is not cliche (at lease I hope not) so read it! Post V-Force, pre G-Rev.

* * *

Chapter 1: The escape

Shrill alarms pealed throughout the Abbey. Red lights flashed on in every single room, waking its inhabitants up and alerting them that someone had escaped from its confines. Denis, the leader of the Abbey guards, threw his sheet aside. The thin, hard bunk creaked as he leapt up from it and made for the door, grabbing his revolver on the way.

"Dammit," he muttered angrily as he navigated the flashing hallways with ease. They were chaotic. Confused children were leaving their cells to find out what was happening. There were also many guards, hurrying up and down the corridors, trying to find the escapees. One nine year old child got in his way, and he struck him with the butt of his gun, ordering him to return to his cell. "They can't do anything right when I'm not around."

Turning around another corner, he came face-to-face with the head of the Abbey, Boris Balkov. Hurriedly taking a few steps back, he straightened up and saluted him.

"I expected better from you, Denis," he said nastily. Denis flinched, seeing his malicious sneer.

"I was not on duty, sir," he replied, waiting for the answer with dread. Boris' sneer became more pronounced.

"They have already escaped now," he said. "I do not know how they got past our _heavily guarded_ security system," Denis flinched yet again, "But that is done. Now, I want you to find out exactly who has escaped." Saying this, he retreated into his office, leaving Denis to find out the identity of the fugitives. He spun around and, raising his fingers to his lips, whistled, a special whistle that he had developed with the sole purpose of calling his guards. Soon, they stood facing him, tensely fingering their revolvers.

"I'm disappointed in you," said Denis angrily. "But I shall talk to you about that later. I now want you to patrol each and every corridor, check each and every room, until you find out who has escaped! Go!" He barked the orders out. The guards obediently turned and filed away, spreading into the many different passageways.

Denis himself made his way to one of the most important wings of the building, the place where the four Blitzkrieg Boys were housed. It was supposed to be a high-security area, but… Denis glanced down at his watch. It was time for the changing of the shifts, and that used to take a minimum of five minutes. A certain dread made itself known in his heart, a gnawing fear that the most important soldiers in the Abbey had escaped…

Denis Putin was not a religious man, but at that moment, he prayed.

Finally, he reached the cold metal door that led to the Blitzkrieg Boys' room. He knew exactly what it looked like. It was completely bare and empty, except for four bunks, one against each wall. He even knew which bunk belonged to who. He stepped into the room, surprised by the chill in the room. It was colder than he could have imagined. Looking around in the dim red light, he saw with a sinking heart that none of the beds were occupied. Striding towards them, he ruffled through the sheets… although two of the sheets were missing for some reason.

He groaned loudly, realizing that they were all gone. If it had just been one or two, they could have been recovered, but all of them banded together?

Tala, with his exceptional intelligence, would be able to formulate a plan so that they would never be found. Bryan was ruthless and would stop at nothing to get what he, or in this case they, wanted. Ian, with his experience of firearms, would prove a lethal addition, and Spencer had shown a surprising aptitude for mechanics. It didn't help that they were all skilled in combat, either.

Groaning loudly, he made his way to Boris' office. Reaching the door, he rapped on it loudly. "Enter," Boris called coldly from inside. This room, too, was illuminated by red light. Nobody had bothered to switch the lights on. In actuality, this was Voltaire's office, but Voltaire never came here any more; he did not want to be openly involved in the Abbey. Due to this, Boris had adopted it as his own. It was by far the most luxurious room there was in the building. There were several plush sofas and armchairs, and a polished wooden desk, behind which Boris was presently seated.

The purple haired man was looking directly at Denis as he entered. Denis came to a halt right in front of the doorway as the door shut with a click. "Who's missing?" Boris asked. Denis nervously fiddled with the trigger of his revolver, something a careful, conscientious guard would never do. Boris instinctively knew something was wrong. But surely it couldn't be that bad?

"The Blitzkrieg Boys," Denis said abruptly. There was no point in beating around the bush. The change in Boris' countenance was sudden and extreme. His already lined face somehow looked even older, and his eyes flashed with anger. His hand began inching towards a mug of coffee that was nearby. Denis apprehensively noted that it was empty, and made of glass.

"How many?" asked Boris in a low, dangerous voice, hand even closer to the mug.

"I… well…" stammered Denis, hoping that Boris would calm down before his hand reached the mug.

"Stop dithering, man," said Boris, slamming one fist down on the table and standing up, snatching the mug from its place on the desk.

"All of them, sir," said Denis, his face betraying no emotion as the mug crashed into the wall only inches from his face and shattered into a million pieces. Boris brought his other hand down onto the desk too.

"Find them," he said through gritted teeth. "Find them and bring them back _alive_."

"If I may ask one question, sir?" asked Denis tentatively.

"Yes, you may ask one bloody question," replied Boris, clenching his jaw again.

"How many men can I take with me?"

Boris considered the question. The boys would undoubtedly be difficult to find, but Boris could not spare too many guards. Also, he was angry at everything and everyone at the moment, and he just wanted to punish Denis for his stupidity. He spat out his answer, "Two."

Denis opened his mouth to protest, but seeing a glass paperweight near Boris' fist, closed it again and left the office. He heaved a sigh of profound relief as something hit the door just as it closed behind him.

------------------------------------------------------

"Suckers," cackled Ian, firing a shot into the air out of sheer joy. His dark purple hair was being whipped around by the air, because his head, along with half his body, was sticking out of the window of the jeep.

"Stop that," snapped Bryan from behind the wheel. The pale, lavender haired boy's eyes were narrowed in concentration as he maneuvered the car through the snow-covered roads. He did not manage to sound as angry as he wanted to, however. Escaping from the Abbey did that to you.

"Why?" called Ian, firing again for good measure.

"You're wasting ammo," came the curt reply.

"You could give away our position," Tala chipped in lazily. Tala was sprawled across three-quarters of the back seat, head resting against the window, which was why Ian was half outside the car. His eyes were closed and there was a smirk on his pale face. Spencer was seated in the passenger seat. The blond was, as per usual, completely silent.

"Do you think they found that guard?" he spoke up unexpectedly. Bryan sniggered. 'That guard' was, at the moment, rolled up tightly in a sheet, tied with the torn strips of another, and shoved under his bed.

"He's as good as dead," Bryan remarked, smirking.

"Nah," contradicted Tala. "They'll find him… some time."

"Do you think they've discovered that their weapons are gone?" asked Ian, thinking of the stack of weaponry in the boot of the jeep. All four of them grinned; they had raided the arsenal thoroughly before leaving. "Better yet, when do you think they'll find out that we stole Boris' jeep?" Spencer smiled at this; he had hotwired the jeep. It wasn't difficult; it was just a question of knowing which wires to use.

"So what's the plan?" Bryan addressed Tala after a momentary silence.

"Well, we get out of this city anyway," replied Tala. "We'll keep on driving, I guess, until we come to another city, and from there we'll collect supplies."

"Do we have money for supplies?" asked Bryan dryly.

"We'll figure something out," shrugged Tala. "I've brought some important stuff in _this_." He patted a sack that he had brought out with him. He had been filling it up for the past week in preparation for the escape. "It's not stuff of immediate importance, like food, but it could help us screw up the Abbey and Boris' career." Bryan nodded and kept on driving.

"What if they're tracking this jeep?" asked Spencer suddenly.

"That's why we're going to exchange it for another car in the next city we reach," said Tala as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer raised an eyebrow. It seemed highly improbable that they would be able to exchange a jeep for another car. Although this jeep _was_ rather valuable. It had been purchased by Voltaire for 'strictly business purposes', but of course, Boris had disregarded that completely.

"And if they don't want to exchange?" he asked skeptically.

"Oh, they'll exchange," replied Tala with great confidence. Spencer craned his neck to look at the redhead, to see whether he was serious or not. His eyes were open now but the smirk was still there as he repeated the remarkable statement, "They'll exchange."

There was something in his voice that told them that if it was an exchange he wanted, an exchange they'd get.

------------------------------------------------------------

Denis surveyed the line of men standing before him, perfectly straight, revolvers resting against their shoulders. There were ten of them in all; Denis had picked them out as his best men. Now, the real problem made itself evident: which two men to choose?

"I need two extremely capable men to aid me in this task," said Denis, eyes narrowed. He still hadn't elaborated about the task to the men. "However, it is my opinion that anybody who was on duty this night cannot be included in this category. Who was on duty tonight?"

Six shamefaced men raised their hands halfheartedly into the air. Denis looked at them for a moment, expression betraying disappointment and contempt, before he ordered them to leave. He turned to the four remaining men, looking at them, sizing them up for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he said, "Ivan, Vladimir, step forward. You two, leave."

Two of the men left, leaving Ivan and Vladimir facing Denis. They each took one step forward and looked back at Denis stolidly. Vladimir was a tall, heavyset man in his mid-twenties. He had dark, close-cropped hair, and would be useful to Denis due to his strength and slight degree of sadism. Of course, it could not rival Bryan's sadistic streak, but it was something.

Ivan was the younger of the two. Denis had his doubts about him; he had joined the Abbey about a year back (rumour had it that he had been blackmailed into doing so by Voltaire), and he seemed more humane than the other guards. He refused to beat the inhabitants, and he was not particularly cruel. He was of medium height, and his build was wiry. He was an excellent marksman and a reasonably good strategist, which would prove useful to Denis. He had untidy fair hair which was, much to Denis' irritation, usually falling over his green eyes.

"You two must know the situation," Denis said suddenly. "The four Blitzkrieg Boys have escaped and it is up to us to find them. First, I want you to stock up on weapons. Go!" He leaned against the wall, arms folded, expecting a long wait, however, to his surprise, the two returned within minutes.

"Well?" he snapped, seeing that they had brought nothing with them.

"The arsenal is empty," said Vladimir nervously, fidgeting with his revolver. "The weapons are gone."

Denis was livid. "Get a hold of yourself, man!" he said angrily. "Weapons don't just run away!"

"He means they were taken, sir," interjected Ivan, perfectly calm. Denis passed a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Get Igor, then," he snapped. Igor was responsible for the arsenal.

"Igor is missing, sir," said Vladimir apologetically. Denis clenched his jaw. Those boys! Suddenly, he remembered something. He groaned out loud; two of the sheets had been missing in their room. He hadn't considered it of much importance at the time, but now…

"Go search in their room. He will be there, I am sure of it."

Ivan and Vladimir obediently hurried down the corridors until they came to the door. They entered the cold, dark room. Vladimir reached for the light switch and flicked it on. It had no effect the room remained in darkness. He flicked it on and off several more times until Ivan pulled out his torch and trained it on the wall. A small scrap of paper was nailed to it, with the words, "Surprise… we sabotaged the electrical system. Lucky for you the security system has a different source. Good luck finding dear old Igor." Vladimir growled in anger as he stomped off down the passage, planning to inform Denis of this new complication. Meanwhile, Ivan trained his torch on each bed in turn.

They couldn't have had enough time to hide him in a very clever hiding place; they must have shoved him somewhere pretty obvious… the beds! Ivan bent down in front of each bed in turn, peering under it. There was nothing under the first two, but when he bent to see under the third, he could make out a dim form. He pulled it out roughly, and saw that there were torn strips holding it together. He ripped them off, and then unrolled the sheet to reveal the limp form of Igor, the arsenal guard. As Ivan watched, Igor slowly gained consciousness, sitting up in a bemused sort of way.

Ivan had never liked Igor very much, despite the similarity in their names. Igor was vindictive and cruel, and the only useful aspect of his character was his strength. Igor groped for his revolver while Ivan watched silently.

"Where is it?" he asked, looking around wildly. "Where are the boys?"

"The boys are gone, Igor," said Ivan nastily. "As are your weapons. All of them. Now stop weeping and go to Denis; he wants to see you." Igor groaned loudly. This was terrible! Just as he was about to inquire after the whereabouts of his boss, Denis came striding down the hallway with Vladimir in his wake.

"Oh, hello, Igor," he said in a flowery voice. Igor flinched. He knew that voice all too well. "Was your arsenal locked today?"

"Y-Yes sir," he stammered uncomfortably. "They must have picked the lock."

"Oh, yes, of course," he said. Suddenly, his tone changed. "I should demote you! Force you to go through training again. This is not a joke, this Abbey. It is very real and important, and thanks to you, we just lost four very valuable teenagers. Four teenage boys against whom you could not even defend yourself!" Igor did not bother to protest, although one only learned through experience how very hard Bryan's knuckles were. Denis spat out his last words, "You will go first thing tomorrow morning and restock the arsenal! Leave now!" Igor hurried out of the door after one last salute. Denis turned back to Vladimir.

"Now, what were you saying about the electricity?"

------------------------------------------------------

"Stop!" Tala said suddenly. Bryan almost jumped; he had thought the redhead was fast asleep. He jammed his foot down on the brake pedal and brought the jeep to a halt. He peered out at the road; there was nothing to see except a small roadside inn.

"You're not seriously saying we're going to stay here?" asked Bryan skeptically. They had managed to leave Moscow with great difficulty and now Tala wanted to stop and rest at a cozy roadside inn?

"No," said Tala, irritated. "Of course not." He bent down and rummaged in the sack he had brought along and fished out a telephone directory. "I have to make a call." Bryan looked at him in disbelief. Then he glanced outside; there was a small phone booth in front of the inn. He shrugged philosophically and switched the engine off. Tala stepped outside into the cold night.

It was snowing lightly and there was a small breeze. The temperature was definitely below zero, and Tala wasn't even wearing a sweater. However, it was just as cold in the Abbey, so he didn't particularly mind. He crossed the road and entered the booth. Fishing out some loose change from his pocket, he slid it in and picked up the receiver. Flipping through the phone book, he found the number of a shop he had often visited on behalf of Igor, the guard whom they had knocked out some time ago. He smirked, his breath fogging up the glass next to him, as the rings went. Finally, someone picked up and there was a very groggy hello.

"Hello," Tala replied, disguising his voice. He enquired if this was the owner of the shop.

"Yes, yes, this is me," the man replied in an annoyed voice, "This is also my home number. What are you thinking of, calling at this time?"

Tala glanced at his watch and saw that it was around one o'clock. He grinned, and then, disguising his voice best as he could, replied, "Sorry about that, but I am calling to tip you off." A thought had struck Tala while they were leaving Moscow; Igor was a rather lazy man, and he had never gone to the shop himself to restock the arsenal; he always sent one of the 'soldiers' of the Abbey although it was his own duty. That meant that this shopkeeper had never met him before. "A man named Igor is going to visit you, probably early in the morning—"

"Who is this?" the shopkeeper was fully awake now.

"Never mind my identity. The point is, Igor will want to buy a large number of weapons. Don't sell."

"Why not?"

"Because," Tala smirked, planning to sow the seeds of suspicion in the man's mind, "This man is not part of the armed forces _or_ the police. Why, then, does he need such a large amount of weaponry? Put two and two together." He put the phone down with a click. Opening the booth's door, he looked around to make sure the coast was clear before crossing the road. He entered the car, shutting the door with a bang. Bryan started the engine and began to drive again.

"Do you want someone else to drive?" asked Tala, not wanting the boy to fall asleep while he was driving. Bryan shook his head. Slowly, Tala fell asleep, leaving Bryan to drive in solitude. Several hours passed by. At last, Bryan reached the outskirts of a city. He seemed to be in suburbs of some sort. It was the break of dawn, and he definitely wasn't expecting anyone to be up and about. He was, however, surprised to see a teenage girl walking along the sidewalk.

He brought the car to a stop and rolled his window down. She inquiringly looked at him. "Do you know where the nearest showroom is?" he asked, looking at her narrowly. She paused to think for a moment. He tapped the dashboard impatiently. Finally, she told him the directions.

"What a strange request!" she added with a light laugh. Bryan hesitated slightly before asking her another question.

"Which city is this?" he asked casually.

She looked at him in confusion. "Lubertsy," she replied. Bryan saw that she was looking slightly suspicious now, so he forced a smile onto his face.

"So we _did_ take the right turn," he replied. Her expression cleared; he had just wanted to confirm. "Thanks," he added, rolling his window up and driving on. He followed her instructions.

Presently, they rolled up in front of a large car showroom. It had a little flat above it. Bryan almost drove past it, but noticed it in time and brought the car to a loud, screeching halt. The other three had been awake for a few minutes now.

"It's closed," remarked Bryan, looking at the 'closed' sign hanging on the door. Tala looked at it too.

"Oh, they'll open it," he replied with a smirk, his blue eyes landing on the window of the flat situated above the shop.

* * *

A/N: How was it? No flames; constructive criticism is welcomed. I don't know anything about Russia and all my information is acquired via the net, so if anything is wrong, politely correct me. Again, don't flame. Review! Next chapter is better. 


	2. The Exchange

A/N: Hey! First off, I apologize for the huge gap between updates. I was gone for vacation plus I was shifting, so I only just got access to the internet again. I don't think that updates will take this long in the future. I've already typed it till chapter 5, any how. I'll probably post the next chapter in a week's time. Anyway, here's chapter 2:

* * *

"How are you going to get it opened?" asked Ian skeptically. The boy was squeezed into one corner of the seat, as Tala had decided to put his sack up as well. Tala pointed to the flat. "Well, I assume the shopkeeper lives there, and Bryan's screech should've…Ah." Their eyes followed the direction in which his finger was pointing. They saw that the window of the flat had been opened and a man with graying hair was sticking his head out, shaking his fist at them and saying something that sounded like "Crazy kids".

Tala poked his head out of the window, and, cupping his hands around his face, he called, "Sorry about that. My friend got a little overenthusiastic." He ignored Bryan's protest. "It won't happen again." The man looked mollified, and was going to pull his head back in, but Tala called out, "Wait!" He looked at him inquiringly. "We have a bit of a problem here. Can you come and help?" The man hesitated for a moment before nodding and disappearing, shutting the window behind him.

"Overenthusiastic?" said Bryan, craning his head to look at his friend in disbelief.

Tala nodded. "Yeah, and now I'm going to tell him you hurt your arm and need a bandage."

"And what will you say to him when there's nothing on my arm?" asked Bryan scathingly.

"What, you don't have any scars on your arm?" asked Tala incredulously. "Just show him one of those. You can tell him that you've already cleaned up the blood."

Bryan rolled his eyes, sitting back in his seat. "Alright," he said reluctantly. "I don't know what you're planning but I'll play along."

"Good; I'm making it up as we go."

At that moment the shopkeeper came downstairs, looking at them slightly suspiciously. Tala stepped out of the jeep, followed by Bryan. Tala nudged his companion slightly, in response to which Bryan held onto his arm and groaned, rolling his eyes at the same time. The man looked at Bryan with concern, and then glanced at the jeep. Did Tala see a flicker of envy in his eyes? That was most definitely a good sign. He smirked as the man asked Bryan, "What's wrong?"

"I've hurt my _arm_," said Bryan, shooting a look at Tala that clearly said 'You owe me'. Tala chose to ignore it.

"That's what comes of reckless driving," said the man severely, earning a glare from Bryan. "Come on now, show me your arm." Bryan had already pushed his sleeve back, and he stepped forward, holding out his arm. The man saw it and gasped. There were no less than four scars marring the pale skin. They were all long and white, the longest running the full length down Bryan's arm. "W-which one?" he stammered, unable to drag his gaze away from the scars.

Bryan shrugged slightly; all of them were scars… what was the difference? He studied them all closely, and finally jabbed at the most recent one. This was slightly thicker than the others, and was still rather raw. The man swatted his hand away. "What are you doing, poking it like that?" he said angrily. "I suppose you have cleaned the blood already?" Bryan nodded, looking vaguely amused at the man's evident horror. "I…does it hurt?" asked the man, curiosity getting the better of him.

He stared at Bryan with a sort of horrified fascination as the boy casually ran a finger down the scar he had chosen. Grinning when the man shuddered, he shrugged nonchalantly and replied, "Not particularly." Seeing the glare from Tala, however, he added, "When I hold it straight, that is… when I bend it," he demonstrated, "It really hurts."

"Then don't bend it!" said the man angrily, his voice rather high-pitched. "Alright then, I'll get some bandages and antiseptic." The two waited until he returned. "You must come inside and have breakfast with me," he said, after he finished bandaging Bryan's arm. He insisted on putting antiseptic on the lavender haired boy's other scars as well, to Bryan's annoyance, not unmixed with amusement.

"No," Tala declined the offer politely. They couldn't afford to stop now; they had to stop in some place where no one would look for them. "We have already had breakfast." The man nodded and turned. "There is, however, one more thing you can do for us."

The man turned back at once. He was willing to do just about anything out of sympathy for these 'poor, injured boys'. While bandaging Bryan's arm, he had asked Tala to help. Tala had pushed up his sleeves, and he had a fine collection of scars too, which had horrified the man beyond measure. He was now convinced they needed care and protection.

"You could exchange that _valuable, state of the art_ jeep of ours for something else," said Tala hopefully. Seeing the man hesitate, he hurriedly added, "It really is valuable, you know. Much more so than, say, a Pajero." The man looked at the jeep again, considering the offer. The jeep was, as Tala said, rather valuable, and probably high-costing. Also, there wasn't a single scratch on it. It would certainly be a bargain…

-----------------------------------------------

"That was priceless," said Ian, voicing his and Spencer's thoughts. Tala was now behind the wheel, driving. Bryan was in the passenger seat, and Spencer had joined Ian at the back. Ian was glad; although Spencer was definitely more heavily built than Tala, Tala insisted on sprawling out so that three-quarters of the seat was occupied. Spencer sat perfectly straight, so now the midget could sprawl.

Bryan, who had been driving all night, was keeping his eyes open just so that he could remove the bandages. The man had put layer after layer after layer, and it was beginning to annoy him, until finally the blasted thing came off, revealing his skin. He leaned back, satisfied, and almost immediately fell asleep.

"Yeah," agreed Tala, not bothering with a certain quality known as modesty. He gripped the wheel of the silver Pajero tightly as he veered around a corner. He had never really driven before; neither had Bryan, when it came to that. They didn't have licenses, but so far they had been fine.

"One thing though," Ian said, speaking up again. "I wish you'd accepted the breakfast offer. I'm starving."

"We can't stop here," replied Tala. "We have to stop somewhere where no one will find us." Ian subsided into silence. The moments passed peacefully, without any conversation. Suddenly, Tala brought the car to a stop with a screech that rivaled Bryan's. Bryan, who had been trying to catch some sleep, woke up at once. He was a very light sleeper.

"Dammit Tala," he growled, looking at the redhead murderously. "Do you have to do that?" Tala ignored him; he was staring at something that was on the wall beside them. Bryan followed his gaze. There, on the wall, was a poster advertising a circus.

"They'll never look for us here," replied Tala in a low voice.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Igor scrambled to his feet as the shopkeeper unlocked the door. The shopkeeper surveyed him warily. That phone call last night had confused him, and he had thought about it long and hard, until he came to the conclusion that the person had been warning him about a terrorist plot. He looked at Igor narrowly. He looked like the terrorist type, heavyset, muscular, holding a revolver.

"My name is Igor," Igor began to speak, only to have the man jump about a mile into the air. He stopped, confused.

"And you are here to buy one or two guns?" asked the man, looking suspicious.

"No, actually, I am here to buy a large amount of weaponry in order to restock—"

"Are you part of the armed forces? The police?" asked the man, cutting Igor off in mid-sentence. Igor looked even more confused than before, and shook his head to indicate 'no'. The man slammed the door in the surprised guard's face. "Do not come back!" he exclaimed. "We don't co-operate with terrorists!"

"But I'm not—" Igor heaved a sigh as the man hung up a 'closed' sign and glared at him. He clenched his fists as he turned around, planning to return to the Abbey. When he finally reached, he conveyed the news to Denis, not having the guts to convey it directly to Boris. Therefore, Denis once again found himself rapping on the door to Boris' office with bad news in store. He cursed his luck when Boris ordered him to enter.

"Denis, why aren't my lights working?" asked Boris before the chief guard could say anything. Denis shuddered before plunging in.

"They sabotaged the electrical system," he explained miserably. Boris clenched his fist, but luckily for Denis, there was nothing that could be thrown about at hand.

"Call an electrician and have it fixed!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Yes sir," replied Denis. "One other thing, sir."

"Ah, yes, why haven't you and your men started out yet?" asked Boris, ignoring Denis. "You know those four won't be easy to catch, and the more time you waste, the further away they get."

"That is because," Denis paused a moment and then continued in a small voice, "Because they raided our arsenal. Igor went to restock it, but the shopkeeper won't sell him any because he thinks Igor is a terrorist."

"Just start out," snapped Boris. "You may buy ammo on the way yourselves. There is no use dithering now. Leave."

"One more thing, sir," said Denis. Boris passed a hand tiredly over his face, but said nothing. Taking this as a sign to continue, Denis said, "They have stolen your jeep."

"My jeep?" exclaimed Boris in horror. "Not one of the Abbey's? M_ine?_ Are you absolutely sure?" Denis miserably replied that he was sure. Boris put his face in his hands. Suddenly, he looked up and an ugly smile crept over his lined face. Denis was beginning to feel slightly afraid of his employer now.

"They stole my jeep, eh?" asked Boris; this time, however, he sounded happy. "Let me run something by you, Denis." Denis remained silent. "Take a seat. Why are you standing?" Denis obediently sat down as far from Boris as possible. "The Abbey is a very secretive organization. In the eyes of the outside world it is just a regular, respectable training centre with, perhaps, a few dozen members. The police have nothing against us. Therefore, the police have nothing against _me,_ the head of this respectable organization. So, if a group of delinquent boys steal my car, what happens?" Denis suddenly understood what he was driving at. A smile crept over his face too as he made his reply.

"They become criminals, wanted by law."

------------------------------------------------

Tala ground his teeth in frustration as he took yet another wrong turn. They couldn't afford to stop and ask directions, because then, random passersby would be able to describe them to the Abbey's search party. In fact, to prevent people from seeing them, they had put sunshades on all the windows, including the one at the back. They had only left a small portion in front of Tala free so he could see where he was going.

"Tala, I don't think we're going to find it," remarked Ian. "We might as well—"

"Shut up," snarled Tala, reversing without even bothering to check whether the coast was clear. Ian braced his hands against the back of Bryan's seat to prevent himself from lurching forward.

"I'm just say—Hey, Tala?"

"What?" he snapped.

"There it is," he pointed towards a place to their side that he could only see by peeking behind the sunshade. Tala craned his neck to make sure the midget wasn't joking. When he was satisfied, he turned the car in that general direction. Miraculously, this time no wrong turns were taken, and presently the car rolled up in front of the circus enclosure.

-------------------------------------------------------

"Oi! Julia!" called a voice. Julia, a fifteen-year-old with brown-and-orange hair and green eyes, turned around in the direction of the yell. She saw her twin brother, Raul, standing several feet away, hands cupped around his mouth. Standing there in the sunlight, his bright red hair was something of an eyesore. He took his hands down when he saw she had heard him. "Romero wants to see you," he said, sounding disgruntled.

"Ok, be there in a minute," she called back. She turned back to her friend, Chelsea, a girl with shoulder-length reddish brown hair and green eyes. Chelsea was the daughter of the circus owner, and she used to help around while setting up a show. She herself wasn't part of any acts. At the moment, she was helping the manager of the horses, Greg, to clean the stables out. "See you two later," said Julia, running her hand through a beautiful black horse's mane before walking in the direction of her coach's trailer.

She rapped on the door and entered without waiting. Her coach, a man with untidy blond hair, was bending over one of the numerous plants he kept inside his trailer. In fact, it was jammed so full of flowerpots that there was barely enough room to move about. He spun around dramatically when he heard her entering to face her.

"You wanted me, coach?" she asked, folding her arms.

"Yes, I just wanted to ask, are you quite ready for tonight's act?" asked Romero anxiously. Romero was usually calm and laid back, but before Raul and Julia's beyblade act, he would totally lose his cool. It showed his 'great confidence' in their abilities, Raul had remarked once. "Quite ready? I mean, I asked Raul, but what about you, are you fine? Quite—"

Knowing that this could continue for quite a while yet, Julia interrupted, "Yes, yes, yes to all questions! Did you put Raul through this just now? No wonder he sounded so annoyed."

"Yes, but I just wanted to make sure. It's our first time in Russia, you know. We want to leave a good impression. So are you sure—"

"Your faith in us touches me," interrupted Julia.

"I'm sorry, but—are you sure? Positive? Confident?" he asked, brow wrinkling. Doubtlessly, he would have continued, had Julia not cut him off yet again.

"Bye, coach," she said, rolling her eyes and stepping backwards out of the trailer. Shutting the door, she turned around and walked right into her brother.

"Sorry," he said, stepping back. "Hey, there's this car pulling up next to the fence… Think you could go see what they want?"

"Sure," replied Julia, spotting the silver Pajero that her brother was referring to. She walked off in its direction.

---------------------------------------------------------

Eduard Smirnov sat at his desk, rifling through his drawer in search of a packet of sugar. When he couldn't find it, he shrugged philosophically and reached for the steaming black coffee. Without even bothering to add milk, he finished half of it in one long gulp. He grimaced; normally he never drank coffee, but this had not been a normal day, or, more appropriately, night. The police Inspector had stayed up the entire night looking through files, organizing them and throwing out the old and outdated ones.

He glanced at a picture of him standing with his family. There was his wife standing next to him, tugging his youngest child, a five-year-old girl, by the hand, trying to coax her into the picture. Beside him stood his eight-year-old son. He grinned at the picture as his intercom rang. Picking it up, he distractedly said, "Hello?"

"Sir, Mr. Boris Balkov wishes to meet with you," came the voice of his secretary. "I told him you are busy, but he said it is urgent and must be called to your attention immediately." Eduard sighed heavily. Of course, if he did not invite Boris into his office, Boris would file a complaint.

"Alright then," he said. "Send him in." He had never liked Boris Balkov. He seemed the sort of person who was capable of blackmail, murder, and all other crimes imaginable. As the door opened, he instinctively reached out and put the photo-frame into his desk to shield it from Boris' eyes. He knew it was paranoid, but he couldn't help himself.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Balkov," he said courteously. Boris sat down on the armchair placed in front of Eduard's cluttered desk. The purple haired man had a rather pleased flicker in his eyes, which made Eduard rather uncomfortable. Boris hoisted a briefcase onto the inspector's desk and opened it. He took out four small passport sized photographs and placed them in front of Eduard.

Eduard looked at them. The foremost one had the picture of a sixteen-year old redhead with a strikingly pale face and icy blue eyes. There was a lavender haired boy with grey eyes, a dark purple haired one with a rather large nose and a placid-looking blonde, who was probably the most normal-looking of the group. All in all, these four could very easily be identified… Eduard looked up from the pictures and waited for an explanation.

"These are four members of my training facility," said Boris smoothly. "They were the most talented and, therefore, were treated with the most importance. This may have gone to their heads, for last night, they decided to steal my jeep."

"Steal your jeep?" asked Eduard, surprised. He glanced at the photographs again. These boys didn't look like criminals. Experience had taught him that criminals have a hardened, desperate sort of glint in their eyes that comes from committing crime; these boys did not have that glint in their eyes. Boris, on the other hand, was a completely different story…

"Yes," said Boris, the corners of his mouth turning up. He took out a few more snapshot, this time of his jeep. "This is what it looks like. It is rather valuable, and will no doubt fetch them a rather large amount of money." Eduard couldn't believe it. These boys weren't criminals! They must have had due reason to do what they did…

"I will organize a small inquiry…" said Eduard mechanically. "You can expect me any time after noon. I will make a thorough survey of your facility to make sure that there was no actual reason for them to commit this crime."

"Thank you," smirked Boris, shutting his briefcase and standing up. He left the pictures on Eduard's desk. As the door swung shut behind him, Eduard flipped the pictures over. Their names were scrawled at the back.

"Tala Ivanov, Bryan Kuznetsóv, Ian Popov, and Spencer Petrovich," he read out loud. He didn't know why this had shaken him so much; it was probably because he personally suspected Boris of child abuse and several other crimes, but had never been able to get any evidence relating to this. "One of these days, Boris Balkov…" he murmured, putting the pictures in his drawer, next to that of his family.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Tala stepped out of the car, looking around. The circus environment was so different from the Abbey. There were several fields which the circus owner seemed to have rented. One was full of trailers, another sported various animal cages and horse boxes, and yet another was bustling with activity as people were putting up an enormous tent. Presumably, the tent was meant for the show.

He scanned the place with his eyes, looking for someone who could help them out. Everybody was so preoccupied that they hadn't even noticed him. He remembered that the poster had said that there was to be a show tonight. That was probably why there was so much activity going on.

His eyes fell upon a girl of medium height walking towards them. He stood silently until she reached them and asked, "Can I help you?"

He scrutinized her for a moment and then said, "I'm Tala Ivanov. Me and my companions," he gestured towards the other three who were silently standing behind him, "are here to find out if there is any need of help here." She seemed confused, so he reluctantly continued, "We need jobs, basically."

Her expression cleared. "Ah, I see. I'll take you to Mr. Etherington, the owner. He's in charge of hiring. Follow me." She began to walk in the direction of the trailers, and after momentary hesitation, they followed. Suddenly, she stopped as though she had suddenly remembered something, and spun around, making Tala very glad he had been walking some distance away from her.

"I'm Julia Fernandez, by the way," she said with a smile. Without waiting for a reaction, she turned around and resumed walking. Tala glanced at his companions, who looked bewildered. He shrugged slightly, and continued to follow her. They soon reached the trailer.

"You're on your own now," said Julia, rapping on the door with her knuckles. "Good luck." She disappeared from their sight as someone told them to enter from inside. Tala pushed the door open and stepped inside, followed by his other three comrades.

Inside, there was a man comfortably seated on an armchair. He had a lean, muscular form. He was quite tall and had longish brown-red hair which was tied up in a ponytail. He seemed to be in his late forties. "Yes?" he asked with a pleasant smile.

Tala introduced himself, as did the other three, and then explained why they had come to the circus (excluding, of course, the part about escaping from the Abbey). Mr. Etherington seemed oddly relieved. "Ah, yes," he said, standing up. "I wanted to hire some help over here. This is the perfect time. There is, however, one condition." He looked at them anxiously. "You will have to travel around with us."

"No problem," replied Tala promptly. Traveling around with a circus was foolproof! They'd never be found…

Mr. Etherington reached out and shook each of their hands in turn.

"Welcome to the circus."

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked the chapter! Please review! If there was something you didn't like, feel free to tell me... politely, not in a flame. Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 1! 


	3. The Circus

A/N: Sorry for the long gap between updates. School's hectic, plus my internet's screwed up. Anyways, thank you to the people who reviewed chapter two. Hopefully, you guys will be constant reviewers…

* * *

"So, four new guys, eh?" asked Chelsea, still cleaning out the stables—or, more appropriately, the horse boxes. Progress was unusually slow that day because, firstly, it was really cold, and secondly, Chelsea was too busy chatting with Julia.

"Chelsea!" barked Greg as he passed by them. Greg was a nineteen year old with spiky black hair and grey eyes. He was working really fast and had cleaned out most of the other horse-boxes. "Do you want to chat or do your job?"

"Oh, I have a choice?" replied Chelsea, flashing a grin at him. He reluctantly smiled back before walking away. Still grinning, she turned back to Julia. "He can't be mad at me," she explained, jerking a thumb towards him. He was her cousin, and they were pretty close. "Anyway, what do they look like?"

Julia quirked a brow at this predictable question. Her friend wasn't shallow, but that _was_ a typical question she asked. "I don't know," she replied nonchalantly. "Why don't you go look at 'em?" Chelsea rolled her eyes as she twirled a piece of hay in her hands.

"Yeah," she scoffed. "I'm not really desperate to know." Julia grinned as Greg suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"Look, if you're not going to work, get out," he said. He rolled his eyes when they both uttered the word "Thanks!" in unison and left the box. He picked up the pitchfork that Chelsea had barely even touched today and got to work. "By the way," he called after his cousin's receding back, "Your dad wants to see you!"

"D'you think it has something to do with the new guys?" she wondered out loud as they made their way to Mr. Etherington's trailer. When they finally came in sight of the caravan, she saw her father's tall form step out. Following him were the four newcomers. Chelsea surprisingly did not comment on their looks. Julia thought she could understand this; the four had a certain air about them that absolutely forbade comment, complimentary or otherwise.

"Ah, Chelsea, come here," said Mr. Etherington, spotting them. "Julia, you too. These four," he waved a hand in the direction of the four boys, "are here to help about, do odd jobs and all that sort of stuff. I want you to show them around the circus, introduce them and make them comfortable." Saying this, he went back into his trailer, shutting the door. For a few moments there was awkward silence, until Julia took it upon herself to introduce them all. After another short, awkward silence, Chelsea took them on a tour around the circus, showing them what kind of jobs would need to be done.

"Where do we keep our car?" asked Tala abruptly. Chelsea looked at him in surprise.

"Don't you have a trailer? I'm sure you can get one from here," she said.

"No, that's fine," replied Tala. "We can manage without one."

"Ok…." said Chelsea, puzzled. "You can keep your car in the trailer park if you want. Do you want to unload it?" Tala shook his head briefly.

"I'm going to drive the car over, then," he said. When nobody objected, he turned and headed towards the Pajero, which they had parked just outside the enclosure. The other three looked at Chelsea expectantly, waiting to be told what they were needed for. She thought for a moment, chewing her lip.

"Well, Bryan, you can help Greg out," she said with a small smile at the thought of her cousin, who was going crazy because of all the work. Bryan nodded and sauntered off in the direction of the horse-boxes. "Ian and Spencer, you two help put the tent up for the performance." They, too, walked off. Chelsea flashed a grin at Julia. "I gotta go help out somewhere. Maybe I can help Ingrid with the costumes." Ingrid was a lady in her fifties who used to sew and mend the costumes which the performers wore during shows. Julia nodded and made her way to the trailers. Chelsea veered off in another direction, towards Ingrid's trailer, whilst Julia made a beeline for her own. She was almost at the door, when she heard the sound of an engine behind her. Turning, she saw the now-familiar silver Pajero pulling up in a relatively empty area. The thought struck her that Tala might want to know what to do, so she changed her course, walking towards him as he got out of the car. He was doing something with the boot.

"Um, do you need help unloading it?" asked Julia, forgetting that he had already refused. He started and shut the boot, turning to face her.

"No, thanks," he replied, locking the boot and slipping the keys into his pockets. Julia was surprised at his reaction. What could be in the boot which was of such tremendous importance that it had to be hidden? He drummed his fingers on the side of the car for a few moments, waiting for her to speak, apparently.

"I'm going to help with the tent, and practice and stuff," she blurted out. "D'you want to come?"

"Sure," he shrugged, running his hand over the car's shiny exterior once more before stepping away from it. They walked towards the location of the tent in silence for a while. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Tala broke the silence with a question, "Is the circus traveling to Japan in the near future?"

"I'm not sure," replied Julia, looking surprised. "I don't really pay attention to this stuff. We leave it up to Chelsea's dad. I think we'll only be here a week or so. Then we'll probably move on to Moscow."

"Moscow?" exclaimed Tala, sounding rather alarmed. She shot him an odd look.

"Yeah," she said slowly. "Is Moscow a problem?"

Tala let out a short, rather bitter laugh, to her confusion. "No, not a problem," he replied with a slight shake of his head. Julia was now positive that there was some motive behind their coming to the circus. And she made up her mind that, one of these days, she would find out, no matter what it took.

"Ok, so there are Ian and Spencer," she pointed out Tala's companions, who were transporting some props from one place to another. "I think Romero could find something for you to do while Raul and I practice." She spotted her blond coach pirouetting about, flirting with some of the ladies. She shook her head in amusement as they walked over to him. "Coach, this is Tala Ivanov; do you think you could find a job for him?"

Romero reluctantly stopped his conversation to size up the newcomer. Tala looked impassively back at him. Finally, he nodded, seeming satisfied. "Well, right now, we don't really need anything so you could sit with me and watch Raul and Julia practice their act. Maybe we can figure out some particular thing you're good at and use it to our advantage?"

_'I doubt it,'_ Tala thought, but out loud, he said, "Alright." He allowed himself to be led to a small place which was isolated from the general bustle of activity. Romero took a seat on the fence; Tala followed suit.

"Where is your brother, Julia?" he asked. Before Julia could answer, however, a scarlet-haired boy came bounding over the fence, his feet crunching on the light covering of snow. Romero looked severely at him.

"Sorry I'm late," he said in a carefree manner, pulling out a beyblade. Tala looked at it with interest. So these two were in a beyblading act, were they? He mentally smirked, slipping his hand into his pocket to finger his own beyblade. Julia followed suit. They both launched in perfect synchrony, and began to perform various tricks. Tala soon zoned out, wondering what was going on at the Abbey…………….

------------------------------------------------------------

Boris had hurried back to the Abbey after his meeting with Inspector Smirnov and given orders to shift about 30 bladers and 15 guards above ground. Most of the organization's activities took place underground, but there were several unused training rooms on the upper level as well. He knew that if he shifted a good number of the members up, and sealed off the underground part for the inquest, he would breeze through it without a problem. He leered as he thought of the fact that the Blitzkrieg Boys would soon be considered criminals. That would _definitely _be a problem for them. Not to mention the fact that three men were already trying to locate them.

He looked at the scene before him. He was standing at the gates. Golden sunlight was pouring over the white grounds. The sound of beyblades being launched and clashing against each other was coming from inside the building itself. He leered again at the thought that it all looked quite pleasant.

He heard the sound of a car pulling up behind him. Turning around, he saw Inspector Smirnov and another police officer stepping out of it. He stood there, smiling, hands behind his back, as they made their way to him.

"Welcome," he said, waving a hand expansively over the grounds, "to the Abbey." Smirnov gave him a suspicious look before replying.

"Thank you," he said briefly. "Now, I'm going to have to look over the entire facility."

"But of course," replied Boris smoothly. "Follow me." He led them over the spacious grounds towards the building. "This is where the members get their exercise. They are given an hour off after every two hours of practice. Of course, if they get tired before that, they have full permission to take a break." He smirked. He was lying so well that Smirnov was forced to accept it. He could tell by the displeased look on the Inspector's face.

Pushing open the front door, he entered the Abbey and led the two police officers down the hallway, into the first training room. Here, ten people were practicing over five dishes. There was a guard in front of each dish, monitoring them and giving them advice. They were dressed in casual clothes and some times would leave the dish to wander about the room at random, bending over the children and laughingly correcting their stances. Boris smirked again; the guards were doing exceptionally well.

He showed them two more training rooms, very similar to the first. They seemed reluctantly satisfied. "Very well," said Smirnov in a drawn voice. "I'll start a search. If we don't find it within a week, we'll put up posters." He looked tired and disappointed. Checking his watch, he saw it was half past one. Perhaps he could take an hour's break and go home for lunch…. Bidding farewell to the self-satisfied Boris, he got back into the car. Turning to his fellow officer, he said, "Well, what do you make of it?"

The officer looked at Boris until he was out of sight, and then replied, "I really don't know, sir."

-----------------------------------------------------------

"There's no way of telling which direction they went in," said Denis, gripping the steering wheel of the Abbey jeep. Ivan was sitting beside him, and Vladimir was at the back. They had purchased a supply of weapons from the same man who had refused to sell to Igor. The poor fellow was positive that Igor was a criminal, and it had taken a lot of effort to get him to sell to them. "So this is basically guesswork. What are your thoughts, Ivan?"

The fair-haired guard was staring absentmindedly out of the window, but at the sound of his boss' voice, he looked away. "I think that they went in the general direction of Khimki," he said quietly. "They are probably headed to one of the European countries."

Denis nodded appreciatively. "My thoughts exactly," he replied. Ivan didn't seem too excited about this. He merely looked away. He was pretty sure that his guess was inaccurate, that the four wouldn't do anything as predictable as that. His brain told him that they were headed for Europe, but his gut instinct begged to differ. "That is why we are headed to Khimki. What are your thoughts, Vladimir?" The man at the back agreed with what Ivan had said.

Taking a turn, Denis nodded yet again. "Glad to see we're on the same track," he said, his voice holding a hint of sarcasm. "So, we're headed to Khimki. Here, we will probably split up for the day and ask around. If the four haven't been spotted at all, by _anybody,_ and we can't find them within a week, we will go to one of the nearby cities. After all, we're reasonably sure they're headed for Europe, and this is the right direction to go."

"What if they've disguised themselves?" asked Vladimir thoughtfully. Ivan was about to reply that that wasn't probable, but Vladimir didn't give him a chance. "They'd probably really stand out in a normal crowd. So they must've disguised themselves."

"That makes sense," admitted Denis, staring thoughtfully ahead. "But there are some things they can't disguise. Such as the fact that they're driving a certain type of jeep with a license number that we know." He smirked.

"So we'll make inquiries about Boris' jeep?" asked Ivan, rather skeptically. Denis glanced at him.

"Yes," he replied shortly. "Does that not seem like a sound plan to you?" There was a hint of displeasure in his tone. Ivan vouched no reply; he merely turned his head back to the window. His eyes took in the empty stretch of road ahead, and he felt a sudden twang of sympathy for those four boys.

--------------------------------------------------------

"So what'd you think?" asked Julia, dropping down onto the ground and then hopping back up when she remembered that it was covered in snow. Tala's eyes, which had been closed, snapped open.

"It wasn't bad," he said carelessly. Julia raised an eyebrow. It had definitely been above average…

"But…?" she prompted, leaning against the fence. Romero was discussing something with Raul, who was looking more and more inclined to retreat into a corner and sulk.

"It could've been better," he replied, smirking at her indignant expression. Apparently, she didn't like to be corrected. Or perhaps she thought that he had no right to correct her, seeing as he didn't seem to have any experience with beyblades.

"I see," she replied, slipping her blade into her pocket.

"It wasn't bad," he repeated himself. "It just wasn't great. Your launch can be improved."

"Alright then," she replied, taking up the challenge and taking her beyblade back out. She offered it to him, saying, "Why don't you show me." Tala pushed away from the fence, ignoring her outstretched hand.

"I have my own," he said, taking it out of his pocket. She looked at it and seemed reluctantly impressed. It seemed to be in great condition. He connected it to his launcher with a click, slipping fluidly into launching position. She leaned against the fence, folding her arms and looking on. Under her rather cynical gaze, he pulled off a perfect launch, landing right in the middle of the little clearing. He smiled triumphantly as he called the beyblade back, catching it and pocketing it yet again.

Her lips quirked upwards in a smile. "Ok," she said good-naturedly. "You can launch better than me."

"Admitting defeat so easily?" he asked, quite surprised. He wasn't used to this sportsman spirit in the Abbey. She pushed away from the fence and started walking away. He fell in step casually.

"Pretty much," she shrugged. "It's not the end of the world that you're better than me at launching. It's not like _I'm _terrible at it…"

"Where's your sense of competition?" he wondered out loud, fingering his beyblade. "Besides, launching isn't the only thing I can do better than you."

Julia rolled her eyes. "Right," she replied, nodding. They walked in silence until they reached Spencer and Ian, both of whom were still carrying stuff to help the others.

"We could do with some help," said Ian, without even a trace of tiredness in his voice, although he must have been doing this for about an hour. Spencer, too, wasn't the least bit tired, and was quietly going about his work. Tala shrugged and joined them. Julia watched their receding backs for a moment before making her way to Ingrid's caravan, where Chelsea would be.

She entered the door without knocking; Ingrid hated it when circus people knocked at her door before entering. She wanted them to feel at home, she would say. And one never has to knock at one's door. Ingrid looked up cheerfully as she entered. She was a very petite lady with snowy white hair, which was done up in a bun at the back of her head. She had a surprisingly young face, and was at the moment bent over some sewing. Chelsea, however, was not there.

Before Julia could even ask, Ingrid said, "Chelsea has gone to see if anyone else needs any more help. But you stay. I can find a job for you." Julia obediently sat down beside her. She dropped a handful of cloth into Julia's lap. "So what is this I here about the four new boys?"

"Well, they're here to—"

"Yes, yes," said Ingrid, waving her hand (and her needle) in the air dismissively. Julia ducked as the needle came dangerously close to her. "I know why they are here. But what is so special about them? Chelsea seemed quite impressed by them. She didn't say anything particular on that subject, but I can always tell."

Julia grinned. Ingrid looked up and saw that she hadn't begun to work yet. "Well? We have a show tonight, you know," she said. Julia shook her head and started sewing. She kind of understood why Chelsea was, as Ingrid put it, impressed by them. Chelsea must have been kind of obvious, though, for Ingrid to deduce it so quickly. Of course, she was right; Ingrid never made mistakes in these matters. She grinned again and got down to work.

---------------------------------------------------------

A little group of people stood outside the tent, peering in. They all had acts, but they had either already done them, or weren't up yet. Presently, the acrobats were performing. So far, the show had been a huge success. Every act had been greeted with wild applause and cheering from the Russian crowd.

Mr. Etherington could be seen sitting somewhere in the front, towering over the others due to his formidable height. He was dressed in a formal black suit and looked delighted at the enthusiastic reception of his circus. Chelsea was standing with the group waiting for their acts to come on.

Suddenly, Romero appeared from the back. He had changed his usual loose white shirt for a more formal white one with a collar and cuffs. He looked dreadfully uncomfortable. Tugging at his collar, he looked anxiously at Raul and Julia, both of whom were clad in warm clothing so as not to feel cold. "Are you two quite—"

"Yes, coach," they chorused, not allowing him to continue. They were used to this and the best way of dealing with Romero was not to allow him to say too much. He sighed, tugging at his collar again.

"This is damned uncomfortable," he growled in frustration. "Well, if you two are positive, then I'd better go and… well, I think I should just go." He hurried off, still fidgeting with his buttoned-up collar. They looked after his receding back in amusement and turned back to the show.

"We're next," said Raul, squeezing Julia's hand momentarily. She nodded, keeping her eyes on the present act. Greg and his team were performing various stunts on horseback. These were also being warmly received. As they thundered out, Mr. Etherington strode onstage to announce the next act. Romero reappeared as if from nowhere, anxiously inquiring after their state of readiness. They reassured him, took out their beyblades, and were pushed onstage in a flurry of confused limbs. But once they were on the stage, their confusion disappeared, replaced by relaxed smiles as they went through their routine without a hitch.

As they walked back out, followed by gales of applause, they saw the four newcomers had been watching as well. They were standing slightly apart from the rest of the group and had an air of disinterest about them.

"How was it?" Julia asked again, after talking to the others immediately outside the exit. She was looking straight at Tala, a challenge in her eyes.

"The launch was better this time," he admitted with a half-smile, half-smirk. He and his companions had refused to go anywhere near the stage. Apparently, they were stage-shy… or so it was thought. Nobody suspected their actual reasons for not wanting to be seen by the public.

"How many acts are left?" asked Spencer.

"Only one," replied Raul. "Then we all go out for the final bow, and the show is over. It went pretty well, wouldn't you say?" He had turned to Romero, who was looking proud and relieved.

"Yeah, that was good," he said distractedly, chafing his wrists. The cuffs were now open, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Just one more act to go…" He wandered off. The last act passed like a dream, and at last, it was time for the final bow. All the performers and their trainers hurried onstage in a single file and took a bow. There was resounding applause as they filed out, and finally, to the relief of the performers, the show was over.

"Barbecue tonight!" hollered Greg, without even looking at Mr. Etherington for approval. The circus owner, however, merely smiled indulgently and didn't protest. "C'mon, who's up for it?"

There was a general murmur of agreement and slowly, as the night went on, the people became increasingly lively, until, at about two in the morning, it seemed as if they had done nothing but rest all day. The Blitzkrieg Boys had felt rather out of place at first, but everybody went out of their way to make the newcomers feel at home, and gradually they relaxed.

Circus life was beginning to grow on them.

* * *

A/N: Hope it was up to scratch. By the way, in case anyone's wondering, this story is not going to be focused on their life in the circus. Other things will happen… I don't think the next update will take long. Constructive criticism welcome; flames aren't. 


End file.
